Page 56 of Chain Me
“Everything has been taken care of,” the driver assured. “Have a safe trip, sir.”
Dublin maneuvered me to stand before him, ensuring that I had to climb the stairs and enter the plane first. An elegant interior greeted me, well beyond the luxury of the few first-class cabins I’d been in throughout the years. The space resembled a lounge rather than a vehicle designed for transport. A plush, dark carpet accented gunmetal-gray walls, and instead of rows of uniform seats, a black leather couch hugged one wall across from a flat-screen television. Parallel to it, on either end of the room were matching recliners. A doorway straight ahead alluded to additional compartments.
The aircraft even possessed its own attendant, it seemed.
“Welcome, miss,” the smiling woman greeted warmly. “Welcome, Mr. Helos. Can I offer you wine or—”
“That will be all,” Dublin said, and she promptly scurried off to some unseen hiding place.
Pushing past me, Dublin claimed the couch for himself, leaving one of the recliners for me. Conveniently, both faced away from him, as distant from his position as the space would allow.
My face heated as I marched toward my imposed exile. Memories of last night flooded my thoughts, each hazy image more confusing than the last. Paired with his stony reception today, I suspected that it all was some new, twisted mind game.
Congratulations, he was already winning. I had no idea how to combat him this time. My usual defense—stripping naked and daring him to consign me to Hell—didn’t appear to be an option this time.
“Sit,” he snapped, fastening a seat belt over his waist. Purely for show, I suspected. “We’re about to take off.”
I scrambled onto the recliner and buckled myself in. Minutes later, we were hurtling down the tarmac and then airborne.
And it seemed as though the farther we left the Earth behind, the more frantic my thoughts became. Saskia’s taunts echoed viciously inside my skull, outlasting the hum of the plane’s engine.
“He relives it. Over and over… But you know what really gets his cold heart pumping? Your sister.”
“Can I get you anything to drink, miss?” The female attendant asked, suddenly appearing by my side. Balanced on her hand was a silver tray containing a variety of beverages.
I started to shake my head. “No, thank you—” But I broke off as movement caught my eye.
Dublin. He cut his gaze toward the tray, fixated on a beverage in particular. Without thinking, I grabbed the item consuming his interest—a bottle of water. With a few swift pulls, I drained it, aware of him watching.
By the time I returned the empty bottle to the tray, however, he was already back to ignoring me.
When the attendant retreated out of view, I finally gathered the nerve to face him. He eyed the world visible beyond the windows, his arms crossed. At a glance, one might name his posture petulant—but it was so much more than that. Callous. Disinterested.
Cold.
One would never guess that last night he’d sworn that I’d tempted him to madness.
Lost in thought, I rummaged through my purse. Within seconds, my fingers cradled a small object between them: a cheap ring of plastic gold sporting a cracked turquoise bead. I slipped it onto my finger as I refocused my gaze on the creature sitting across from me.
“Saskia told me something,” I croaked, breaking the silence. “Several somethings. Confusing things.”
“And you believed her?” He didn’t even bother to utter his customary scoff; I wasn’t worth the effort. “Do I need to remind you that she thrives on deception?”
“No,” I admitted. “B-But…”
For the first time, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to relive the images I’d been suppressing. His kiss. His touch. The way he’d held me like I was something he wanted to break and cherish in one twisted breath. Like he craved me as he claimed.
Such a startling contrast to the way he was acting toward me now—like I was something repulsive. A burden he felt compelled to suffer.
Which one was the truth?
For some reason, he assumed I knew.
“Don’t bother yourself worrying about Saskia and her lies.” Leather hissed as he shifted, presumably starting to stand. “Now, if you’re finished, I need to speak to the pilot—”
“She told me you think of me,” I blurted out. My eyes were still closed, but in some ways, the blindness enhanced my ability to perceive his reaction.
His harsh intake of a breath he didn’t need. The tension crackling in his muscles, his joints stiffening. The man could convey a symphony of emotion when he wanted to. Namely rage.
